


Time Tears Us Apart

by shadows_of_1832 (SaoirseVictoire)



Series: The Outlander AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pregnancy, Separation, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaoirseVictoire/pseuds/shadows_of_1832
Summary: The one time he makes the decision for her, potentially separates them for good.(or in other words, he survives against his expectations, and he wishes he listened.)
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier
Series: The Outlander AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953127
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Time Tears Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from bisexual-eponine/angejolras: “i don't know how to exist in a world without you” and/or “that ship has sailed. i’ve had my one great love already."
> 
> Managed to fit both prompts in here, though you may have to squint for the second.
> 
> This hurt a bit to write.

**June 4, 1832, Paris**

“Don’t make me go, please!”

The words are childish to her, tears streaking her face as Eponine makes this one last plea. Desperation overwhelms her, in these damp tunnels surrounded by ancient remains with the roaring of the stone that threatens to part her from him.

He’s cracking apart within, his stone-blue, red-rimmed eyes revealed in the firelight. There’s a running conflict in his mind, she knows it, the side that tells him to have her stay in the off-chance he makes it out alive and the other that considers following her if he could.

“Let me wait it out; I’ll go back if you die, I promise you!” She’s made this argument before and she’ll do it again this one last time. She holds on to his shoulders, rather her hands become fists tightly gripping the shoulders of his coat. “Corentin, please!”

“Eponine…” His hand reaches to brush her cheek, and she leans into the touch. “It will be safer for the both of you in your own time, and you will have Azelma and your friends there to take care of you.”

 _But they won’t be_ you _!_

Both of their eyes drift downward, the small bump of their unborn child present underneath the fabric of her dress. She loosens her grip on his coat as he kneels down, his hand touching her stomach.

“Take care of your _Maman_ for me, little one.” His voice catches in his throat, a tear streaking down his cheek. He removes his hand and replaces it with his forehead. “I love you, and always will.”

Eponine rests her hands on his shoulders, the pair remaining like this for a few moments until with a deep breath, he gets to his feet. His eyes glance down the tunnel from which they came, hesitant, then focusing on her.

“Stay strong for me.” He brushes away a strand of her hair that clung to her face from the tears, then pulls her close, forehead pressed against hers. “I would be there if I knew I could, I assure you.”

“I’ve grown so accustomed to you, I don’t know how to exist in a world without you,” she says, voice wavering.

“You will, I know you will,” he says, pulling away a little just to meet her eyes. Holding her, he starts taking slow small steps toward the stone, the roaring of it too hard to ignore as she notices how close her departure is. She clings onto him, tighter, wishing the hold was enough to pull him through with her. “I love you, here and forever.”

There’s still so much she wants to say, things she’ll never have the chance to; words fail her, and time runs short. She manages, “I love you, too.”

His lips meet hers, a gentle yet desperate goodbye. She wants time to stay still, let things remain as they are.

Her back presses against the stone, and he’s gone.

**June 4, 2002, Paris**

When she comes to, she can still feel his touch.

* * *

**November 15, 1832, Toulouse**

The autumn air brings a chill into the house earlier than expected. Enjolras looks out the window of the sitting room, watching the leaves skitter across the yard toward the road. His wounds have mostly healed, though there’s a lingering soreness on some days near his shoulder.

In the background, he can hear his young nephew’s delighted squeals and his mother’s soft but amused tone coming from the hall. He turns to see the toddler scamper into the room, Annag just a few steps behind him.

“Luc play?” his nephew asks, looking up at Enjolras as he pauses in front of him.

“I think your uncle wants to be alone for now, Gratien,” Annag says, glancing towards Enjolras apologetically. “I meant to stop him, really.”

“It is nothing to worry about, Mama.” Enjolras goes to kneel at the toddler’s level, only just as he does so, something catches Gratien’s eye and he heads towards it. The toddler plops down after grabbing hold of one of his wooden toy blocks.

Annag releases a breath, taking a few steps to join her son at the window. She murmurs, “Are ye all right?”

“As much as I can be, considering the circumstances,” he replies, glancing towards Gratien. “Were she here…it would be any day now…”

His throat tightens, trying to not let it strike him again. Had he only listened, had he compromised, they would be here together, on edge as the time grew closer but excited all the same. No, the one time he makes the decision for her, it’s torn them apart, and he had no way to reach her to take it all back.

Annag presses her lips together, reaching to brush his arm. “She’ll find her way back to ye, her and the wee one; a faery such as her will.”

“If she can find me…” He turns back to the window, taking a deep breath. “There will never be another for me; she is the only one, in this lifetime and the next.”

“I know; I feel the same about your father,” she replies, a somber look falling on her face as she turns to Gratien. The toddler turns the block around in his hands, paying no attention to conversation.

A slight smile forms on Enjolras’ lips, watching Gratien, so easily fascinated with world surrounding him. It’s an innocent sight, yet a tragedy the child’s parents would never get to see these moments; they deserved to. For a fleeting moment, he’s grateful that while he’ll likely never know his own child, at least Eponine will have such a chance.

 _Would it be today?_ he wonders.

**November 16, 2002, Paris**

_Dear Corentin,_

_At 8:32 last night, our little girl came into the world…_


End file.
